


Gallopin' Greens

by avianscribe



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Animal Transformation, Chronic Pain, Gen, Status Effects, magical mischief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-26 15:28:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21740389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avianscribe/pseuds/avianscribe
Summary: Prompto buys home-packaged gyzahl greens from a skeevy peddler when they stop at a Coernix station, and when the chocobos don't like them, he eats them himself.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia & Prompto Argentum & Noctis Lucis Caelum & Ignis Scientia
Comments: 29
Kudos: 122
Collections: FFXV Holiday Gift Exchange 2019





	Gallopin' Greens

**Author's Note:**

  * For [star54kar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/star54kar/gifts).



> When you said "animal transformation" was one of your loves, I had to go for it -- because it's one of mine, too! I hope you enjoy!

“You bought w- _what?”_ Gladio stammers.

“Gallopin' Greens!” Prompto says, waving the plastic bag of dried gyzahl greens in Gladio’s direction.

“What?” Noctis says in the flattest voice he thinks he’s ever used. 

“From a _peddler?”_ Ignis says, in refined disbelief.

“No, seriously,” Prompto says, clutching the package and reading off the homemade label stapled to its back. “‘Freshly harvested from the wetlands of Duscae, these greens are guaranteed to give your bird that extra boost in vitality!’ She said it would give their feathers a real _shine._ And they’d feel great, too!” 

“But they’re not even _fresh,”_ Noctis says. 

Prompto opens the bag and pulls out a dry leaf. “I wonder if it’ll make my hair shiny,” he says, and sniffs at it.

It looks like a kale chip, and Noctis can’t help sneering at it. “You aren’t seriously going to _eat_ that, are you?” 

“What’s good for the bird can be good for the boy,” Ignis chimes. “Perhaps if you eat it deep-fried and salted in chip form, you can pretend it’s those snack foods you enjoy so much — and you’d still be getting good nutrients.”

“There’s no way I’m eating bird food,” Noctis replies, and lets his disgust color every word. 

Prompto, meanwhile, pops the leaf in his mouth and chews thoughtfully. “Not bad,” he says. Then he grins. “Can’t wait to see the birds gobble them up!” 

Prompto practically bounces in his seat all the way to the haven, and as soon as the tent is up, he borrows Noct’s whistle and summons their chocobos. Noctis low-key watches from his camp chair by Ignis’s cooking station. He isn’t terribly surprised when all four chocobos turn up their beaks at Prompto’s little offering. He does feel bad, though. 

“It’s okay, Prompto,” he says. 

“But… she said they were guaranteed to like them,” Prompto says in utter dejection, as the birds turn away to forage on their own, picking at the rocky ground rather than eat the dried leaves in Prompto’s cupped hands.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Gladio says with a dismissive wave. “She was scamming you and you fell for it.” 

“At least it was only a hundred-fifty gil,” Ignis says. “Please be more judicious in your spending next time, Prompto.” 

“Yeah, sure,” Prompto says, meekly, and sighs. 

Prompto nibbles from the offending bag of greens off and on all night and every time Noctis sees one of the leaves head for Prompto’s mouth he tries not to gag and hopes Prompto’s breath won’t smell green all night.

* * *

When Noctis wakes, the first thing he notices is how soft everything feels. Well, not everything… The ground under his sleeping bag is still rock-hard and uncomfortable, and his back hurts something awful this morning, and that will have to be addressed soon -- but his face is smothered in something that feels like clouds. 

Sometimes in the night Prompto will curl up close enough that Noctis gets a face-full of his hair, and this _kind of_ feels like that, but it’s even softer. And it’s not just tickling his face. He can feel feathery touches on his neck and shoulders, and his bare arms, where they lay next to the pillow. 

So he opens his eyes. 

Sunlight is just beginning to hit the tent, but to Noctis, the light is all filtered through yellow, because he’s looking at a mound of feathers. A huge mound, where Prompto used to be sleeping. A mound that is gently rising up and down. Because it’s breathing. Because it’s a bird. It’s an actual, live chocobo, curled up with its head resting on its back, on top of Prompto’s sleeping bag. 

Where Prompto is at this moment is a question Noctis would very much like answered.

He sits up slowly, both because his back _really_ hurts and because he doesn’t want to startle the bird awake, because that would be a disaster in this tent that’s barely big enough for four grown men.

As soon as Noctis shifts, he hears a quiet, drowsy “Noct?” from Ignis on the other side of the tent. Between them, Gladio makes a sleepy noise — and Noctis realizes that, for once, he’s up before _both_ his advisor and his Shield. Well, sort of up. His back twinges and he can’t help a wince. 

But he has to say something. “There’s a bird in here,” he whispers. 

“Nnngh?” Gladio says, and lurches up. “The hell…?” 

Noctis grabs Gladio’s arm and gives it a squeeze. “Don’t wake it,” he hisses -- then hisses again, when the sudden movement sends pain radiating up his spine. 

When Gladio looks at the bird, his dopey not-quite-awake face twists in puzzlement and Noct’s a little relieved, because it means that he’s not losing his mind. “That’s a…” Gladio drawls sleepily.

“A chocobo,” Ignis says disapprovingly, putting on his glasses. He’s sitting up now, too, pulling on a button-up. His hair is still mussed, feathered over his forehead. As soon as he’s dressed, he quickly (and quietly) unzips the tent and ties the flaps so the door is wide open. “Quickly, you two, get out and give it some room. Hopefully it will leave on its own, but we wouldn’t want it to lash out at anyone.” 

Gladio grunts in agreement and rolls up onto his knees. He puts a broad, warm hand on Noct’s back. “C’mon, Princess,” he murmurs. “Need help?” 

Noctis is more grateful for the gesture than he wants to admit. He accepts Gladio’s hand to pull him up to his feet. Then they’re all outside.

Well, not all of them. 

“Prompto,” Gladio yells, “I don’t know how the hell you did it, but you’d better get your ass up here and get this bird out of the tent before I rearrange your--”

“KWEH!”

A rustle from the tent, then more rustling. Then a quiet “Kweh?” Then a “Kweh? _Kweh…?!”_

Then a scrambling sound, and the bird launches out of the tent. 

The first thing that is immediately clear is that the creature isn’t one of _theirs._ Noct, Ignis, and even _Gladio_ took Wiz up on his offer to dye their birds’ feathers -- blue, soft grey, and brilliant orange. This bird is natural chocobo yellow, but with vivid blue-violet eyes, rather than the traditional brown, and it’s not wearing a Chocobo Post-issue halter. So it isn’t Prompto’s bird, either.

“It must be wild,” Ignis murmurs. “Well, now that it’s out, hopefully it will find its way back to wherever it came from. I hope it didn’t make too much of a mess in there.”

Gladio grunts. “How Prompto got the blasted thing into the tent without waking everyone up--”

“I have no idea,” Noctis says, gingerly heading towards one of the camp chairs. “But more importantly -- where is Prompto, anyway?” 

The bird makes an alarmed noise and rushes forwards. Gladio intercepts it before it can careen into Noctis. Gladio wraps one arm under its chest and another around the back of its neck. “Easy there,” he says, holding it in place while it kwehs in distress and tries to get away.

Noctis eyes it uncertainly, and sits as carefully as he can in the camp chair -- and sucks air through his teeth as he tries to relax into it. His back is _not happy_ today. He leans his head back and closes his eyes, savoring the sun’s warmth. 

Someone leans over him, blocking the light. “Here, Noct,” Ignis says. 

Noctis opens his eyes. It takes a moment to focus on the full canteen and oblong pills in an open palm. 

“You’ll feel better once they kick in,” Ignis says, and drops the pills into Noct’s open hand. 

He pops the pills into his mouth, then takes the canteen, takes a deep swallow, and hands it back to Ignis. “Thanks, Specs,” he says.

The chocobo makes a soft noise, but it isn’t struggling anymore. Gladio lets go but continues to stroke its neck to comfort it. 

Ignis returns to the cooking station and starts pulling out food, glancing at the bird now and then. “It has no halter, but it acts like a domesticated bird,” he says. “I wonder if it’s a stray.” 

“Kweh,” the chocobo says mournfully.

Ignis eyes it. “Gladio, why don’t you take it down to where the others are tethered and see if it would like a treat. I believe we have enough gysahl greens to spare a few.”

“Sure thing,” Gladio says, giving the bird another pat on the neck. “Maybe I’ll check to see if Chocobo Butt is down there, too.”

“Please do,” Ignis says. “I’m concerned; it’s not like him to miss the payout of his own practical joke.”

Gladio grunts, and then tries to coax the chocobo away. Without a halter and lead, the thing has to be convinced on its own. Gladio isn’t very convincing. 

As soon as Gladio unwraps his arm from the bird’s neck, it makes an imperious “Kweh!” and dashes to Noctis — then it trips. 

Noctis has never seen a chocobo trip. Watching this one do it while barreling straight towards him is like watching a train wreck — he can’t look away, even though he knows what is going to happen. Its startled face, its beak open in an alarmed “KWEEEEH!”, its wings cartwheeling as it tries to regain its balance; its legs lashing out frenetically as it tries to get them back underneath itself — and then Noctis has a face full of its feathery breast as it lands on him. He barely has time to make an “ooof!” sound before he feels the chair he’s sitting in buckle under their combined weight, and then— 

Pain. White, hot, and lancing up and down his spine.

There is a fog of nothing for a while… then sound returns. Several things register at once: Gladio and Ignis making alarmed noises (Noctis can’t understand what they’re saying); and the chocobo, sitting on his chest.

He can’t breathe.

It takes a moment for rational thought to kick in, and when it does at last, he curses the fact that his pain meds have yet to kick in. 

Then the chocobo’s weight is gone, and Noctis blinks in the morning light. 

“Noct!” 

A blur resolves itself into Ignis’s face, leaning over him. 

“Noct, speak to me — where does it hurt?” 

“Nnnngh,” Noctis manages.

There’s a flurry of rustling feathers and several imperious chirps, combined with Gladio cursing and saying several variations of “you damned bird” until at last there’s a sharp _“Get away from there!”_ And then, next to Ignis’s face, is the chocobo’s large head. 

“Kweh??” it says, poking its beak into Noctis’s face. Then a softer “kweh…??” Its violet blue eyes are large and wet — and it looks as though at any moment the poor thing is going to burst into tears.

Could chocobos cry?

Noctis raises a hand, with a wince as his trapezius pulls at his spine. He scritches at its chin and murmurs, “It’s okay, buddy.” 

The chocobo’s eyes grow wide, then narrow blissfully as it leans into the scritches like it’s never had them before. When Noct’s hand falls away, it blinks at him. “Kw… eh?” it says.

Noctis starts to push himself up to sit.

Ignis puts a hand on his shoulder. “Stay still, Noctis,” he said. “Let’s make sure there’s no damage before you move.”

The remnants of the chair are digging into Noct’s back. “Could you at least get me off this damn chair?” he mutters. Gladio and Ignis work together — rolling him to one side and then the other, pulling the lengths of chair frame and canvas out from under him. He’s back on solid rock again, and… the chocobo settles in beside him. Its feathers are fluffed over his arm, and he can feel its warmth.

“C’mon, you,” Gladio starts, and puts a hand on its neck to try to pull it up.

Noctis puts a hand up. “Wait,” he says. “It’s warm. Feels good.” 

Gladio makes a frustrated sound. “Whatever you say, princess… Just don’t want it to hurt you more.” 

The bird makes a small noise and scoots closer. Noctis thinks that if he could lay his back against it, he would feel even better… right now, his back is flat against the cold stone, and it doesn’t feel quite as nice. But he doesn’t want to try to roll over. Not the way everything is feeling now.

Before he realizes it, the bird has scooted so close that its breast is nestled on his chest. It makes a bunch of noises that if he didn’t know better he’d guess were apologetic. 

“Leave it for now,” Ignis says. “I think the more urgent issue is where Prompto has got to.” 

The chocobo stands up and chatters, flapping its wings. Noctis can barely see Ignis’s perplexed expression as he looks at the bird. Ignis and Gladio exchange a look. 

“What’s with _that thing?”_ Gladio asks.

“If I didn’t know any better,” Ignis says thoughtfully, “I’d say it was trying to communicate.”

“Well, _yeah,”_ Gladio says, “but I’ve never seen a bird so anxious to tell us something.” 

“You think it might know where Prompto is?” Noctis jokes, putting an arm over his eyes.

 _“Kweh!”_ the bird squawks, and Noctis has just enough time to register the shift of gravel to lift his arm and see the chocobo dancing a little too close to his head. 

“Whoa,” he says, and leans on his arm to get up — but hisses in pain when his back reminds him why he’s on the ground. 

Gladio rushes forward to wrap an arm around the bird’s chest and drag it away. “Hey, buddy, you’ve caused enough trouble for one morning.”

“Kw-EH!” the chocobo says, and pulls away from Gladio, then dashes to the other side of the haven, where it paces back and forth behind the tent, chittering furiously to itself. 

“Strange,” Ignis says, his hands paused with a frying pan hovering just above the camp stove. Then he shakes himself and sets the pan on the lit unit. He starts filling the pan with bacon slices. “Gladio, if you don't mind, would you go see if Prompto is down with the birds?”

“Yeah,” Gladio murmurs. “I’ll check and let you know.” He took a leap off the edge of the haven, landing with a thump Noctis could feel through the ground.

Noctis just lays there, arm over his eyes, with his knees up, wishing the medicine would kick in faster. 

“Noct.”

Noctis jolts — and then twitches with pain when the movement pulls at his back. “Damn, Specs, you startled me.”

“Apologies,” Ignis says, abashed. “I thought you might be more comfortable in a chair. Can I help you get up?” 

“Yeah,” Noctis breathes. The pain does seem to be easing now. He takes Ignis’s offered hands and lets him pull him up, then accepts his help to a chair. Noctis sinks into it with a sigh.

Ignis returns to the cooking station. Gladio’s gone quite a while; Ignis is just plating breakfast when he returns, looking flustered. 

“He’s not down there,” Gladio says. “I did a quick circuit to track around the haven, to see if he went for a run or something, but I can’t find any sign of him.”

Ignis hesitates, then scoops the last of the bacon onto the remaining plate with a fork and sets the pan aside. He pulls his phone out and taps at it, then puts it to his ear. 

Prompto’s phone rings from inside the tent. 

“That’s strange,” Ignis says. “He doesn’t go anywhere without his phone.” 

Then the chocobo does something odd. 

The tent is still wide open; no one’s bothered to close it yet, in all the confusion. The chocobo stops its pacing and comes out from behind the tent. Then it purposefully steps inside, ignoring Gladio’s “Hey!” 

Noctis watches its fluffy butt wiggle in the tent door as it pokes about -- then it backs out of the tent, with Prompto’s phone in its beak. It sets it gently between its toes and -- using its _tongue_ of all things -- swipes at the screen _to answer the phone._ Then it gives a sharp “KWEH!” that Noctis clearly hears through Ignis’s speaker. 

Ignis slowly lowers his phone, staring at the bird -- who stares back. _“Prompto?”_ he says.

“Kweh,” the bird says. “Kweh, kweh!”

Noctis straightens, in spite of his back. “Are you _kidding me?”_

“No way,” Gladio says.

Then the chocobo opens its mouth and wails. Noct’s never heard anything like it. The poor thing -- poor _Prompto_ \-- makes choking, hiccuping kwehs of distress, and doesn’t stop, even when Ignis approaches slowly. 

“There, there,” Ignis says. He crouches and picks up Prompto’s phone from between his huge chocobo feet and slips it into a pocket so it doesn’t get smashed, and then pats Prompto’s feathery head. 

“But… _how?”_ Gladio says. “We didn’t run into anything weird last night, did we? Did something cast some sort of status effect in the night?”

“On a haven?” Noctis says. “Inside a tent, and only affecting _one_ of us?” 

Ignis looks thoughtful for a moment, then goes to the trash bag he has tied to the corner of the cooking station. He rummages in it for a moment, to Noct’s great astonishment, then pulls out the empty bag of dried gyzahl greens that Prompto had been chomping on all night. 

“You don’t think…” Gladio says, then trails off. 

“It’s the only thing different between us all,” Ignis says. “I wouldn’t believe it myself, but…”

“Better try a remedy, then,” Noctis says.

Ignis pulls one out and cracks it over Prompto’s feathery head.

Nothing happens.

"Kweh," Prompto says miserably.

“Well, so much for that,” Gladio grumbles. 

Ignis scowls at the bag. “Prompto, you don’t imagine you could identify this peddler if you saw them again, could you?”

The chocobo gives a firm “Kweh!”

* * *

Prompto-the-chocobo will never fit in the Regalia. They summon their chocobo mounts instead, and gear up for the ride to the Coernix Station at Cauthess, where Prompto had made his ill-fated purchase. It’ll be long -- but they have to do whatever they can, to figure out how to get Prompto back to normal… even sit for long hours in a saddle, with a back that feels like a garula danced on it. 

Noctis is _not_ looking forward to it. 

As Gladio and Ignis saddle their birds (and Noct’s), Prompto’s chocobo watches in confusion from the sidelines. She chirps now and then, looking for her boy, Noctis guesses. He takes pity on her and gives her some greens and chin-scritches like Prompto would. “Sorry, girl,” he says. “You’re on your own for now till we get your buddy back to normal.”

Prompto watches this whole exchange and gives his own mournful “Kweh.” 

His chocobo looks at him and kwehs right back. Then she steps forward and preens his neck, and he stands perfectly still, eyes wide, looking at Noctis as if to say _“are you SEEING THIS??”_ Which, of course, Noctis hears _in his voice,_ because it’s exactly what he’d say. Noctis even pulls out his phone to snap a picture, and texts it to Prompto so he’ll have a copy. When Prompto’s bird pulls away to take more greens from Noct’s hand, Prompto’s feathers all fluff out and he shudders. 

Noctis laughs. “I think she knows you, even as a bird,” he said. 

Prompto kwehs at him, sounding more cheerful than he has all morning. 

* * *

Once they're all geared up, they take off at a run. Thankfully, the pain meds have kicked in, and Noctis doesn’t feel every stride as a jolt through his back. For now.

Prompto does his best to keep up, though it’s clear he’s still getting used to his bird legs. He figures it out soon enough, and falls into a steady pace, keeping up stride for stride. He doesn’t even pay attention to Gladio’s jabs about being the same color as his hair -- though Noct’s sure there will be more jokes than ever about his chocobo-butt hairstyle now that he’s actually _been_ one. 

When Prompto starts to fall behind, they rein in their own birds, and walk for a stretch, letting Prompto set the pace. When he starts to sprint again, they follow him. In that manner, they make good time, but it’s still mid-afternoon by the time they reach the station. They dismount, and then Ignis is all over the station, talking to the proprietor of the store and everyone else he can corner, trying to determine if anyone had encountered the peddler, and if the peddler could be located again. 

Unfortunately, though a handful of regulars remember the woman in question and her bag of weird wares, no one has seen her before -- or since -- and no one noticed which direction she went when she left.

“Dead end,” Ignis sighs, and Prompto visibly wilts. “I suppose we could wait and see if it wears off, or…” 

“Or?” Noct says.

“Well, as much as he likes his feathered friends, I doubt Prompto relishes staying this way forever,” Ignis says. “We may have to speak to the witch, Kimya -- You remember. Dave mentioned her.” 

“Oh.” Noctis does remember. She’s holed up in some cabin outside Malmalam Thicket and is kind of on the outs with the hunters, but Dave said she’s a fount of knowledge, especially when it comes to weird curses and arcane mumbo-jumbo outside Noct’s experience with magic. If the hunters don’t know, Kimya probably does.

Prompto makes a curious chirpy sound, and cocks his head at Noctis -- and that settles it. Noctis pats his friend’s feathered neck. “We’ll get you back to normal, Prompto,” he says. “I need my King’s Knight partner.”

“Kweh,” Prompto says.

* * *

Without the car, the trip to Malmalam Thicket takes days. Noctis endures it for Prompto’s sake. They set up camp at the haven across the river from the thicket, and then head over the bridge to find the witch’s hut.

Kimya laughs when she sees Prompto.

Noctis can’t help his shoulders tensing despite the pain in his back, and he draws himself up and opens his mouth to protest, but Kimya waves a hand at him. 

“Fine, your friend is,” she says, in her weird backward way. “A mere status effect this is. A curse crafted by a skilled hand, but in light-hearted teasing. Wear off in time, it shall.” 

“But our remedies didn’t work,” Ignis says. “Shouldn’t they have fixed it?” 

“Perhaps,” Kimya says, a knuckle pressed to her chin. She peers closely at Prompto, who holds as still as he can. He feathers rustle when he twitches. Prompto never _could_ sit still, really; it’s just more obvious now that he’s a bird. Kimya hums thoughtfully, then smiles and says, “To this form, a liking his body has, nothing more.”

Noctis blinks. “Are you… do you mean that… he _likes_ being a chocobo??”

Prompto squawks in protest, and Kimya laughs again. 

“Not in his mind,” she says. “But deep within his heart… A child’s dream, perhaps, to be feathered and free.” 

Prompto makes another distressed squawk, and dances backwards a couple steps when they all look at him. 

They’re all silent a moment. Then Gladio bursts out in a gut-busting laugh. 

Prompto looks stricken, and Noctis tries to kick Gladio in the kneecap, but his back is too stiff and his Shield’s lighter on his feet than he looks. Gladio nimbly dances out of the way. 

“Gladio,” Ignis scolds. “Now is hardly the time.” 

“Don’t worry, Fluffbutt,” Gladio says, when he can talk again. “We’ll keep your secret for you.” He reaches out to pat Prompto on the back, but has to pull his hand back fast when Prompto tries to bite his fingers. “Hey!” he says.

Prompto makes an angry growling sound that Noctis has never heard a bird make before. He tries to keep from laughing himself, and it comes out his nose as a loud snort instead. Prompto turns to him with a shocked look of utter betrayal. 

They let Prompto set the pace for their walk back to camp by the river. He walks with less purpose, head down, and every so often he heaves a sigh. It’s surprising how like _himself_ he is, even as a bird. 

“Chin up, Prompto,” Ignis says, and gives Prompto a hearty pat on the back. “If Kimya says it will wear off on its own, then I’m sure it will, given some time.” 

Prompto’s desultory “Kweh” is so pathetic Noctis almost thinks he’ll cry.

“At least you’ve got shiny feathers and a ‘real boost in vitality,’” Gladio laughs, and then has to dodge Prompto’s poorly-aimed kick.

* * *

They start the over-land journey back to the Regalia. It's a much longer trip on chocobo-back than it would be in the car. Noct yearns for comfy seats and the smell of leather rather than the stiff muscles and back pain he gets from hours in the saddle. He thinks Prompto does, too -- minus the ‘hours in the saddle’ thing -- but poor Prompto is reduced to trailing behind them, keeping up with their birds as well as he can on his own spindly legs. 

They’re walking now. Prompto is keeping up with Noct's bird, but he looks _pissed_ \-- if a chocobo can look pissed. His feathery crest is flattened with irritation, and he’s chattering to himself.

From his behavior all morning (and how he kicked over Noct's camp chair that he teasingly offered to Prompto during breakfast) Prompto’s about had it. Noctis has seldom seen him lose patience before, but if anything would do it, Noctis guessed it would be something like this. 

“So what do we do in the meantime?” Gladio asks.

“I suppose we must camp for the time being,” Ignis says. “Hotels won’t accommodate chocobos and I don’t feel comfortable leaving Prompto to his own devices in the wild. We can take some hunts to fill the time while we wait for this to wear off.”

Prompto warbles.

“It’s okay, buddy,” Noctis says. “You don’t have to go with us.” 

Prompto only grows more distressed, and Noctis wonders if he’s upset about the possibility of being left behind. 

“Sorry,” he says. “We just… can’t risk you getting hurt in a fight.” 

Prompto chatters and waves his wings at Noctis. 

“Easy,” Ignis says. “Wear yourself out too much and we won’t be able to sprint. We want to reach the next haven before nightfall.”

Prompto’s crest lifts. “Kweh,” he says, and then takes off at a run. 

“Heh,” Gladio says. “Guess he’s ready to go again.”

They spur their birds to follow.

They travel like this for the rest of the day, and the next -- in short sprints, walking in between to rest, and of course stopping to camp when it gets dark. Noctis takes pity on Prompto and curls up next to him outside the tent when it’s time to sleep. Prompto’s feathers are surprisingly comfortable, and he’s warm enough to compensate for the cold stone of the haven -- especially when he tucks a wing over Noctis like a blanket. 

Ignis frets about the state of Noct’s back, but honestly, the warmth radiating off of Prompto feels so much better than anything they could rig up inside the tent.

On the second day, clouds roll in when they stop for lunch. When they mount up again, it starts to sprinkle, and Noctis’s longing for his cozy, comfortable and _DRY_ car only increases. Before long, the sprinkle turns into a downpour and they’re drenched in minutes. The cold and wet just makes Noctis ache more, and he's ready to be _done_ with all this.

By late afternoon, the haven closest to the car finally comes into view -- and they can just see the black splotch that is the Regalia in the distance. Poor, soaked and bedraggled Prompto is lagging behind. 

"One last sprint, and then we can rest," Ignis calls back to them. 

“C’mon, we’re nearly there,” Noctis mutters. “We can make it.” He doesn't know if Prompto can hear him, and he can't twist in the saddle to look back; it hurts too much... but it's just one more stretch. He grits his teeth and urges his chocobo to run.

They’ve nearly reached the top of the hill crowned by the haven’s blue glow when Prompto makes a strangled noise, followed by a series of splashes and a groan. Noctis pulls up sharp -- his chocobo chirps a complaint -- in time to see absolutely nothing where Prompto used to be. He’s fallen -- and that’s not good news for a tall, thin-legged bird.

“Prompto!” Ignis cries, and wheels his bird around. Gladio does the same, and they all dash to where Prompto should be.

And there… 

There, scrambling to his feet and struggling to stand in the sloppy mud, is Prompto -- completely human and bare as the day he was born.

He’s covered in muck. He spits out a mouthful of weeds and dirt and blinks dejectedly up at them all. 

They all blink back at him.

“What’re you all staring at?” he says. Then his eyes go round as saucers and he clamps a hand over his mouth. “Ah!” he says, and pats his chest. “Aaaaah! I’m…” Then bald panic floods his face. “I’m _NAKED!”_ He clamps one hand around a wrist and cups the other hand over his manhood.

Gladio’s sudden belly laugh makes all the birds flinch.

Ignis sighs and turns his chocobo toward the haven. “I think a shower may be in order,” he says. “Shall we find a hotel? There should be time enough before it gets dark.” 

“Yes, please,” Prompto whimpers. 

* * *

Prompto is filthy and wet and hunched miserably in a blanket in the back of the Regalia while Ignis books rooms for them at the first backwater dive they can find. When Noctis opens the car door to hand Prompto a keycard, it mysteriously smells like wet feathers. “Room 6A,” Noctis says. “You can go first.”

Prompto takes the keycard with a glum “Thanks, buddy,” and hauls himself out of the car. There’s a brief shuffle while he pulls the blanket tighter around him, and then he trudges off to find the room while the others handle the luggage. The gentle hiss of the shower is already going by the time Noctis slips Prompto’s bag into the bathroom so he’ll have something to wear.

Gladio hasn’t stopped laughing since the haven. Noctis is really, _really_ ready to knock his kneecaps in if it doesn’t stop by the time Prompto gets out of the shower -- but Gladio’s knees are saved by Ignis returning with a bag of sandwiches from the stand at the other end of the parking lot. So when Prompto finally emerges, clean and dry and clothed, Gladio’s mouth is full.

Noctis hands Prompto a sandwich.

“Thanks, dude,” Prompto says, and starts unwrapping his roast-garula-and-cheese-on-sourdough sandwich. “Oh man, I am _so_ looking forward to this…”

Noctis laughs. “Tired of bird food?”

“If I never eat gyzahl greens _ever again,_ it will be too soon,” Prompto moans.

“Glad to hear it,” Ignis says. “Maybe you’ll think twice before wasting our gil buying homemade goods from disreputable-looking peddlers.”

Prompto makes an offended noise. “Ouch!” he says. “I didn’t _waste gil!”_

“Sure didn’t,” Gladio chuckles. “I’d pay good money to be that entertained again.”

“So might we all,” Ignis said, with a hint of a smile.

“Not at Prompto’s expense, we won’t,” Noctis says, easing himself down onto the bed, glad for a chance to lay flat on something soft for a change. “Royal decree: no teasing Prompto; he’s the reason we’re getting soft beds and showers tonight. And my back THANKS him.”

“ _You’re welcome,_ Noct’s back,” Prompto says in a formal tone; he even gives a flourishy bow. “You’re the best buddy a guy could have.”

Noctis smirks. “Remind yourself of that next time I tease you about your chocobutt hairdo.”

Prompto’s jaw drops and Noctis laughs.


End file.
